"Close My Eyes" LotrRPS DM/OB
Title: Close My Eyes
Author: lafisher
Rating: PG, I suppose, maybe mild PG-13 if blood squicks you
Fandom: LotrRPS
Pairing: DM/OB
Feedback: Wouldn't it be loverly?
Disclaimer: Total fiction. I don't know them at all, but despite that, I'm pretty darn sure that this did not happen. Not making any money. Please don't take the little I have.
Notes: Written for contrelamontre challenge using this dialogue: "Want you."
S/he laughed airily. "Doesn't anyone say 'please' anymore?"
Came in at 44 minutes.
I know it doesn't include much dialouge...but this is how it came out. Hope it's ok...
Warning: Angsty!dom although I couldn't tell you why...I wouldn't be unhappy in his place
Close my Eyes
When I wake this time, it's to full awareness and I know 'cause I can hear and smell and taste and touch and almost even see. I know it's not the half-waking into a dream that I can never seem to shake because that always feels fuzzy and here, now, everything is sharp, too sharp, so sharp it's almost painless, like the edges of the icicle that slice you as you naively pull it down to suck. The overhead fan is swishing loudly in the silence but underneath the tick of the pull-chain I can hear a little hissing breath that catches, almost in time to the click, but just enough behind to set me on edge. Filling my lungs, I strain my ears into the stillness, trying to hear past the white noise of night.
"Swishswishtic*hic*kswish..." still there.
Damn.
I haven't moved except to stop breathing, but suddenly the bed shifts, and the scratching of the wool blanket on soft skin explodes in my ears. My eyes are open wide and I'm beginning to make out shapes in the blank spaces that make up my room, and I thank the moonlight sneaking in through the blinds, even though I'm not sure that it's not my own wishful thinking.
The breath with its cruelly endearing catch warms the back of my neck and my fingers curl into claws that scratch at the side of my thigh, but I know there won't be a mark. It dawns on me that I'm cold, that the blanket I had so carefully cocooned myself in is no longer covering any part of me. I sneak my tongue out to lick my lips, and I'm right, they taste like stale beer and salty/sweet something that I know I could never have left there on my own.
My body remembers. I slam my eyes shut, but the scene doesn't change. I see the same shapeless bundles and lumps that I thought were my furniture, but maybe they're just part of the landscape in my mind. Squishy soft shapes that yield to the touch, but I can't touch because they'll cut, and I can already feel the blood beginning to drip down from my fingertips to cover the knuckles with the slow gooze.
My muscles are quivering. Now that I reminded them of the chill, they won't shut up. I try to tense, hold my whole body still. I don't want him to wake. I don't want to know, but I can't still the shaking and I can hear my teeth starting to slam together in tiny knocks. He can hear it too. His breathing changes, speeds, becomes ragged, and then a barely audible gasp and I know he's awake.
Shit shit shit. My brain clamors against my eyelids but I keep them tightly squeezed. I don't. I don't. I don't. Can't won't shouldn't be...oh. My.
His hand has snaked over, across my blanket that isn't touching me and then his hand *is*, caressing, rubbing shrinking circles in to the small of my back with two knuckles and I gasp, because his hand is warm and I am not and it feels oh so lovely when you've just been feeling so all alone. He hears my gasp and both arms fold around me, strong and purposeful and pull me back towards him. The tiny spiky hair on his chest scratches my back like thorns, like there's going to be a million tiny cuts when he's done and maybe my back will show the scars this time if I will it hard enough, and he keeps on rubbing.
I've almost stopped shivering by the time he gently takes my earlobe between his teeth and nips. And I know what comes next.
"Want you."
He laughs airily. "Doesn't anyone say 'please' anymore?"
And it flows like blood.
"Please."
Author: lafisher
Rating: PG, I suppose, maybe mild PG-13 if blood squicks you
Fandom: LotrRPS
Pairing: DM/OB
Feedback: Wouldn't it be loverly?
Disclaimer: Total fiction. I don't know them at all, but despite that, I'm pretty darn sure that this did not happen. Not making any money. Please don't take the little I have.
Notes: Written for contrelamontre challenge using this dialogue: "Want you."
S/he laughed airily. "Doesn't anyone say 'please' anymore?"
Came in at 44 minutes.
I know it doesn't include much dialouge...but this is how it came out. Hope it's ok...
Warning: Angsty!dom although I couldn't tell you why...I wouldn't be unhappy in his place
Close my Eyes
When I wake this time, it's to full awareness and I know 'cause I can hear and smell and taste and touch and almost even see. I know it's not the half-waking into a dream that I can never seem to shake because that always feels fuzzy and here, now, everything is sharp, too sharp, so sharp it's almost painless, like the edges of the icicle that slice you as you naively pull it down to suck. The overhead fan is swishing loudly in the silence but underneath the tick of the pull-chain I can hear a little hissing breath that catches, almost in time to the click, but just enough behind to set me on edge. Filling my lungs, I strain my ears into the stillness, trying to hear past the white noise of night.
"Swishswishtic*hic*kswish..." still there.
Damn.
I haven't moved except to stop breathing, but suddenly the bed shifts, and the scratching of the wool blanket on soft skin explodes in my ears. My eyes are open wide and I'm beginning to make out shapes in the blank spaces that make up my room, and I thank the moonlight sneaking in through the blinds, even though I'm not sure that it's not my own wishful thinking.
The breath with its cruelly endearing catch warms the back of my neck and my fingers curl into claws that scratch at the side of my thigh, but I know there won't be a mark. It dawns on me that I'm cold, that the blanket I had so carefully cocooned myself in is no longer covering any part of me. I sneak my tongue out to lick my lips, and I'm right, they taste like stale beer and salty/sweet something that I know I could never have left there on my own.
My body remembers. I slam my eyes shut, but the scene doesn't change. I see the same shapeless bundles and lumps that I thought were my furniture, but maybe they're just part of the landscape in my mind. Squishy soft shapes that yield to the touch, but I can't touch because they'll cut, and I can already feel the blood beginning to drip down from my fingertips to cover the knuckles with the slow gooze.
My muscles are quivering. Now that I reminded them of the chill, they won't shut up. I try to tense, hold my whole body still. I don't want him to wake. I don't want to know, but I can't still the shaking and I can hear my teeth starting to slam together in tiny knocks. He can hear it too. His breathing changes, speeds, becomes ragged, and then a barely audible gasp and I know he's awake.
Shit shit shit. My brain clamors against my eyelids but I keep them tightly squeezed. I don't. I don't. I don't. Can't won't shouldn't be...oh. My.
His hand has snaked over, across my blanket that isn't touching me and then his hand *is*, caressing, rubbing shrinking circles in to the small of my back with two knuckles and I gasp, because his hand is warm and I am not and it feels oh so lovely when you've just been feeling so all alone. He hears my gasp and both arms fold around me, strong and purposeful and pull me back towards him. The tiny spiky hair on his chest scratches my back like thorns, like there's going to be a million tiny cuts when he's done and maybe my back will show the scars this time if I will it hard enough, and he keeps on rubbing.
I've almost stopped shivering by the time he gently takes my earlobe between his teeth and nips. And I know what comes next.
"Want you."
He laughs airily. "Doesn't anyone say 'please' anymore?"
And it flows like blood.
"Please."